Trailer Parks and Howling Dogs
by September's Spell
Summary: Roman could have written a novel and named it 1001 Reasons Not to Invest in a Trailer by Roman God-Fucking-Damn-It.


**A/N**: Total and complete domestic fluff for my lady. Based on a couple of stupid in character text message conversations and the general need to write something silly after an angstyfest of a night. Part 1 of at least 6.

* * *

It was a trailer. A motherfucking _trailer_. Not the kind Peter had lived in with his mom, either. The kind with wheels and a bed above the driver and passenger seat. The kind with a bathroom that was so miniaturized Roman couldn't stand up straight in the fucking shower. The kind that had probably been home to some hobo living off crack and cheap beer.

The kind that made Roman turn up his nose in distaste.

But Peter liked it. Peter _loved_ it. It was practical, he argued. They wouldn't have to worry about packing up their things in the middle of the night. They wouldn't have to worry about making a mad dash to the parking lot if anything went wrong, piling into a car, speeding out of there. They would just have to jump into the drivers seat and haul ass. That was one of the only plus sides he would admit to; Peter smirked and Roman scowled.

Peter liked shit like this. Shit that had a history. Roman couldn't understand how some broken down old building half swallowed by the plants that worked to reclaim it could have had a _personality_, but then Peter had always seen things differently. He was one with the universe or whatever the fuck.

But back to the AIDS-mobile. There was also the fact that he could stay in bed all god damn day if he wanted to and Peter could do the driving. That might have been what sealed the deal. What made Roman agree to it even though he didn't really want to. The practicality of the vehicle wasn't at all lost on him, but it was the bed that won him over.

He liked sleeping in.

So he agreed, much to Peter's surprise and eventual satisfaction. It was the first time Roman had seen Peter grin in quite some time, that bright sort of grin that lit up his eyes and made him something close to proud to have caused it. Peter gave his arm a pat, let out a victory shout and bounded off to seal the deal while Roman hung back hoping against it but knowing that he'd just stepped in something he wouldn't be able to get off his shoe. But that was okay, just as long as Peter kept smiling like that.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice shouted _wiiiiiipped_ and he shook his head and followed after.

They got it for a hundred bucks. The owner was a man with more fingers on his hands than teeth in his head, and Roman really _really_ regretted tagging along for the purchase even if it had been his money.

* * *

Roman had had the trailer completely gutted, scrubbed down, appliances replaced, scrubbed down again, redecorated, scrubbed down again, finished up, scrubbed down again and then scrubbed down one more time just for the hell of it. The first time they stepped inside they could barely breath it smelled so strongly of chemicals, and they'd had to open all the windows to even _consider_ spending any longer than five minutes in there without passing out. But it was _so_ fucking worth it. Roman didn't want to have to worry about getting tetanus because he might have scraped his arm against the sink in the bathroom, because that bathroom was fucking _tiny_.

Peter was still just as excited as he had been in the beginning though, despite the frankly ridiculous amount of money Roman had thrown at the project which usually made Peter cautious. But then he did like to toss money around when he could, it made him feel like he was contributing to something and after all anything that was worth doing was worth doing right the first time around.

It was actually something close to decent. Maybe…decent was too strong of a word. The entire trailer shimmied when they walked, they bumped into each other more times than Roman could count, the refrigerator was too small to hold a bottle of vodka, the cabinet above the freezer kept opening and dumping whatever they had stored up there onto the unsuspecting head of whoever happened to be rifling through the fridge at the time, and Roman could have written a novel and named it 1001 Reasons Not to Invest in a Trailer by Roman God-Fucking-Damn-It.

But by the end of the first day, Roman thought that maybe he could actually make it through this without developing premature gray hairs. Because it wasn't _so_ bad when they set up the stabilizers, and they quickly developed a routine to move around in such a limited space, which mainly consisted of flattening themselves back against whatever they happened to be standing near in attempt to avoid colliding uncomfortably. It wasn't all that bad, right? Roman attempted to be an optimist for once, for Peter's sake and the sake of all the money he'd poured into this, not that money had ever really meant anything to him. It wasn't _great_ but it was tolerable, up until it came time to sleep.

_Ting. Ting. Ting. Ting. _

Roman rolled over onto his side and took the pillow with him, pressing it over his head. It didn't block out that repetitive noise. Over and over and over again. He could feel Peter shift beside him and go still again.

_Ting. Ting. Ting. Ting. _

He hissed and sat up so quickly the trailer must have lurched forward a couple of inches. Beside him Peter jumped, startled by his companion's sudden movements. "What the _fuck_ is that noise?" Roman demanded, eyeing the darkness as though any one of the things that rattled when they drove would raise it's hand and shout _guilty_. But that was fucking right, door handles and stove tops and silverware didn't fucking _have_ hands. Peter sat up slowly like there was a sign near by that said quick movements would startle the animal, and Roman was sort of looking like a really pissed off cat the way his lips pressed into a hard line and his eyes narrowed.

"Maybe its raining." He said stupidly, but he didn't know why because it obviously wasn't raining even though it did kind of sound like water dripping against something metal. Roman gave him a look that stated he clearly wasn't amused by any of this, and Peter blew his hair out of his eyes with a breath and hoisted himself up out of the bed. "I'll take care of it." He said in a monotone voice of a man who knew when he had to get shit done or he wasn't going to get laid.

With a sigh Peter pushed his hair out his eyes and set about solving this mystery. He soon realized that it was nothing inside of the trailer, and he turned to Roman, raised a finger and murmured a thoughtful _ah-ha _like he'd discovered something important; Roman stared at him blankly and Peter knew he would have something thrown at him if he stayed so he snickered and ducked outside.

It was the cord for the awning, bumping against the side of the trailer driven by the wind. He cursed under his breath and tucked it up between the rolled up fabric and then hurried back inside because it was cold out there and that bed was soft and welcoming.

Roman was laid sprawled out across the bed, one arm flung over his eyes while the other rested open-palmed against his stomach. Peter watched him for a moment, a slight smile playing across his lips. And then he ruined it all by diving onto the bed and Roman slapped his arm and cursed at him in Russian but it wasn't lost on him that that god awful noise had stopped, and Peter smirked because he'd had something to do with that. "Told you I'd take care of it." He said, and Roman kissed him with the passion of someone who'd just been saved from a long night of annoyance.


End file.
